


wrong feeling

by katwritesnormally (akitkatbar)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Cannibalism, Cyborgs, Dark, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Kidnapping, Open to Interpretation, Weird formatting on purpose, dub-con to getting limbs removed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-05 19:44:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17925152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akitkatbar/pseuds/katwritesnormally
Summary: His Prey didn't ask for this.





	1. unjust

**Author's Note:**

> thought of this @ work. cannibalistic cyborg creator/inventor kidnaps people to turn them into cyborgs all while feasting on their discarded flesh.
> 
> this is really weird.

The gruesome crack echoed in the darkness, the sound causing a shiver to go down their back by reflex. His Prey watched, wide-eyed, unsure about what to do.

Should they leave? 

... _Could_ they leave?

It wasn’t like they were shackled down, their limbs were free and able to move quietly. They couldn’t tell what their Captor was doing. 

Another **crack** echoed in the small hallway.

_What was that sound?_

His Prey swallowed a cough from the ashy air, cautious about making any extra noises that might set off their predator. From the other room, a small night light blinked, the figure of their captor moving in the shadows.

...

...

...

The smell of meat cooking caught their attention. It smelled burnt, like placed outside on a grill overnight, and his Prey could almost smell the dryness of the meat. The metallic taste of blood wafted out of that small room, their stomach growling with the reminder they haven’t eaten yet. 

His Prey decided to scope out the room where he was cooking, the small sense of preservation left ignored as their hunger overrides to something more primal.

There’s food. Cooked or raw, it’s food... Nutrients.

Another harsh crack echoed in his Prey’s ears, the sound almost comforting as they knew they were closer to sustenance. Their tiptoes barely clicked in their mind, while that caused a growing bout of confusion and worry deep in their stomach, something they saw paused it entirely.

His Prey locked eyes with their Captor, severed legs and arms strewn across his work desk, broken bones and live muscles pulsing in the open air. A small grill was plugged into the wall, some thigh meat cooked dryly above it, lightly reacting to the electrical fire under it. 

They twitched, something in their mind yelling that something is wrong.

Something was very, 

                                   very

                                                 w

                                                       r

                                                             o

                                                                   n

                                                                        g


	2. paranoid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They name themselves as éL.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whats wrong with me

He watched as they squirmed about, uncomfortable with the new-age arm and legs. He gagged their mouth with an old pair of boxers he forgot to wash, ignoring their twist of their disgusted face as he stuffed it inside their mouth. He didn’t want to deal with their sobbing or yelling if they started.

He watched the IV fluid gurgle in its bag, the needle ends feeding into different spots in his Creation’s leftover flesh. The being twitched, the rush of the cold liquid startling them as it passed through their veins.

“I’ve never had children,” he contemplated aloud, not thinking the machine that lay in front of him would hear it, less understand his words. He watched as the resting body that lay on his dusty couch shifted, his mind still aware to not rustle the needles.

A small idea popped into his head. He let the thought sit and simmer front and center of his focus, as it cooked like a nice piece of flank steak, a devious smile grew upon his face. It’s been years since he smiled, the emotion the small action brought up foreign and weird, his usual stone face cracking like dry dirt in an earthquake.

* * *

The next morning, he awoke to the smell of fresh bacon wafting through his small dirty house. Although he knew he lived alone with his Creation, he wasn’t sure they knew how to cook much… And the most obvious warning sign: he _never_ bought animal meat.

As he stretched, he could feel the knots that had made itself present in his neck and shoulders, a brutal reminder he should’ve slept on his bed the night before. As he rubbed the crust and morning exhaustion from his hazy eyes, his focus cleared when he found his Creation standing in the middle of the room, a black ceramic plate in their hand with smoking strips of bacon cooling slowly.

It took a long minute to fully take in and register the picture in front of him. His Creation was wearing an old Geek Squad uniform polo, back when he still was able to work around civilians. The logo that was originally sewn on now had threads leaking from every stitch, the oranges already faded to almost-white. The still-shiny surface of the new prosthetics reflected the small sliver of morning that snuck its way in through the sheet-covered windows.

He blinked, the exhaustion leaving his eyes and leaving a halo glow over his Creation. _Did he install that late last night?_ His Creation truly looked like an angel sent from the heavens back from when he believed he was a follower of religion, not a god those cults worshiped. The previous handful of days full of pain, breaking, and repairing were soon forgotten like a morning fog; what’s left was a mix of machine and flesh.

The glossed pink lips he had paid to abuse less than three days ago smiled coyly, their hip-swinging catwalk towards him that he’d shamefully admit would make his knees jelly, the plate of fresh cooked meat was being pushed right under his nose.

Shamefully or not, he _was_ weak.

They looked over after placing the plate on his lap, their voice sweet like honey and just a bit robotic, “Call me éL.”

“ _éL_?” Creator never had one of his machines speak up like this before.

“Yes, éL. That’s what I want to be named.”

“Hm… I’ll consider it.” He stepped to grab the fried meat from the now room temperature plate. He poked at the cool strip, his mind not stopping the amount of questions he wants to ask éL. Although, one major question blared in his mind: “Where did you find the bacon?”

The calculating, artificial eye he put inside éL’s socket blanked, the light blue iris and dark pupil gone. Just as quick, its eyes focused, looking as normal as any human on the streets outside. In a slow, monotone voice, éL asked, “…Bacon?”

“Never mind the word, where did you find the meat?” With a quick point at the plate, he felt his repressed paranoia acting up like solar flares.

“The large butchered cuts from the kitchen… Are they not for human consumption?”

He paused, biting his cheek to stop the delirious laughter and paranoid-provoked bile rising up from his core. “Sorry, my mistake, L. _All_ meat is for human consumption.”


End file.
